“Put this on. Stay here, then follow my lead.”
She raced up the stairs. But no gas came. No shots were fired. He heard Avery’s voice ring out, echoing through the stairwell with strength and authority.
“Corporal. I have the prisoners in my custody. I need your help securing them.”
Chapter 61
Peyton’s expression said what Desmond feared: She’s betrayed us. He had harbored that fear ever since Avery had freed him from the cell. Whom did she work for? What was her agenda? Why had she freed them?
More discussion above. Avery was arguing with another man now.
“These are McClain’s orders. It’s your funeral, gentlemen. Just stay out of the way.”
More arguing, then Avery leaned over the rail and yelled down, “Johnson, bring ’em up.”
She walked down a few stairs. “Johnson, get your ass up here with those women. We’re ready.”
Desmond finally understood her plan—her very brilliant plan. The look on Peyton’s face told him that she did, too.
Still wearing the gas mask, he motioned for the two physicians to go ahead.
In the patient room, Desmond had been quite worried about whether Hannah could make the trek up the stairs. He was now relieved to see her keeping pace with Peyton. Her legs seemed to get steadier with each step, the sedation wearing off perhaps.
At the landing above, two young soldiers wearing uniforms similar to Avery’s and Desmond’s stood waiting.
“Where’s Hughes?” one asked.
“Hughes is dead,” Avery said flatly.
Their eyes went wide.
“Get going, or we will be too.”
The two men took off up the stairs.
Avery went after them, then the two women, and once more Desmond brought up the rear.
One of the two soldiers was waiting for them at the next landing, pushing other soldiers and two civilians back to make a hole for them to pass.
“Stay back—McClain’s orders,” he barked.
The moment they cleared the landing, he took off up the stairs again, running past them.
The second guard was standing on the next landing, running similar interference.
It was working. They were going to make it out.
The next flight of stairs passed without event. And the next. The crowds were growing thicker though. The stairwell was clogged with people, civilians mostly, trying to get to the upper deck.
Avery was increasing her pace. Desmond had to urge Peyton and Hannah on. They trudged up the stairs, gripping the metal rails tightly, both women panting now. The bandage on Hannah’s shoulder oozed blood. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried but failed to pull in a deep breath that Desmond knew must have been agonizing.
As they approached the next landing, a tall man entering the stairwell yelled, “Avery! Stop where you are.”
She pointed at him and shouted back. “Traitor! Mutineer!”
The uniformed guards around him looked confused for a moment. The man raised his gun, but Avery was quicker. Her shot caught him center mass, right in the chest, propelling him back into the crowd, which scattered. People shouted and ran out into the corridor or up the stairs—except for four soldiers, who must have been with the fallen man.
They raised their rifles, ready to fire on Avery. But the corporal she had enlisted stood in front of her, his own rifle raised at the four soldiers.
“Weapons down, right now,” the corporal said.
“She’s lying to you,” one of the other soldiers said. “She’s breaking them out.”
The corporal hesitated, glanced back at Avery. It was a lethal mistake. One of the men shot him in his chest. He staggered back, went over the rail, and spun as he fell to the landing below.
Avery’s rifle erupted.
Two soldiers dropped, then a third. The last man retreated out of the stairwell.
Avery moved even faster now, pumping her legs.
As she passed the bodies of the four fallen soldiers, she yelled up the stairs, “Cover us, Sergeant!”
The sergeant peered over the railing from above. He looked hesitant, but nodded.
The four of them barreled up the stairs, which were now empty. They were exposed.
He quickened his pace.
Avery reached the landing first. Sunlight poured through the open hatch. Freedom lay beyond the hatch. Or death, Desmond thought. They all hugged the wall, careful not to give anyone outside a shot at them.
“Good work, Sergeant,” Avery said. “Take up position one flight down and cover our backs.”
The man departed without a word. When he was out of sight, Avery unslung the backpack and drew out a round mirror with a long handle. She extended it into the hatchway just far enough to survey the scene outside.
Whatever she saw, she didn’t like.
She pulled the mirror back and drew three grenades and two oblong objects from her pack.
“The helo’s sitting on a pad at ten o’clock. It’s well guarded. They’re loading the tender and lifeboats on the other side of the ship.” She paused, then looked at Desmond. “This is going to get messy. I’m going to need your help.”
Desmond knew what she was asking of him. When he spoke, his voice sounded more confident than he felt. “I understand.”
She tossed two of the grenades out, then the two oblong objects. Explosions vibrated through the deck and sent a wave of heat through the cracked hatch.
“Let’s go,” Avery said, rushing out into the cloud of smoke. Peyton and Hannah followed close behind her, and Desmond brought up the rear.
A firefight erupted instantly. Desmond could hear Avery firing, but he could see only her back, not her targets. The wind was whipping the smoke around, like a twister on the prairie, unsure which way to go.